


Absolute Beginners

by smilodonna



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Denial, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, Parenthood, Post-Canon, Tiny bit of Angst, but all will be well, cause even a genius is wrong sometimes, especially when sentiment gets in the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:08:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27196271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilodonna/pseuds/smilodonna
Summary: John is surprised to find that Sherlock likes David Bowie's music as much as he does.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 56





	Absolute Beginners

**Author's Note:**

> It hurt a bit, writing the boys talk about Bowie in the present tense. May he rest in peace.

The moment John opened the door to 221B, he heard the unusual sounds from above and stopped in his tracks to listen. He hadn‘t heard that song in ages, but he was sure … Yep, that was definitely „Sound and Vision“. And definitely coming from their flat. He smiled, surprised, and hurried up the stairs to find Sherlock and Rosie dancing in the living room. Sherlock had connected his phone to a speaker, from which David Bowie‘s music was now sounding through the flat.  
It was such a cute sight, the tall man bending down a bit to hold the little girl‘s hand, both moving to the music together – Rosie jumping about quite fiercely, while Sherlock confined himself mostly to swaying his hips and taking little steps back and forth.  
They stopped their activities however when they noticed John coming in.  
„Daddy!“ Rosie exclaimed, flinging herself into his arms. „I danced with Sherk! And now we can eat cake, I‘m sooo hungry for cake!“  
John smiled and kissed her on the cheek. „Hi, cutie, it‘s good to be home, I‘ve missed you. So you had a lot of fun, huh?“  
Her face went serious, she pitied him for having to stay away from home so long – he had left early in the morning, and now it was long past lunch. A little hand was stretched out to feel John‘s cheek. „You have been away so long – your face is all stubbly and scratchy again. But come, we eat cake, Sherk helped me bake!“  
In the background, Mr Bowie finished his song. John washed his hands, then he let his happily chatting daughter drag him to the table, where Sherlock had now set the table for the three of them. Together, they enjoyed the delicious chocolate cake and told each other about their day. Rosie managed to devour two big pieces while filling her daddy in on today‘s most important events about her friends and enemies in the nursery school (she insisted on this phrasing, although John knew that whatever discord the children had would probably last two days at most) and about a fight „Sherk“ had had with her friend Craig‘s mother.  
„It wasn‘t a fight,“ Sherlock protested, „merely a dissent.“  
„She was very angry at you,“ Rosie insisted.  
He rolled his eyes at John‘s questioning gaze. „I didn‘t voice my deductions, you know I keep my promise, John. However hard it may be, and you have no idea how hard it was today.“  
„Yes, Sherk was nice,“ Rosie leapt to his defence. „The fight was only because Craig‘s mother doesn‘t want Craig to know about dead people. I think they frighten her. But not Craig, and not me, and not Sherk. Maybe she was angry because she was the only one that was frightened.“  
„Mmmh, that sounds plausible, honey,“ John said, not wanting to know exactly what information about „dead people“ had been shared – but he knew he would have to pick up the topic later with Sherlock. Rosie already had a bit of a reputation of being morbid, although Sherlock really contained himself when it came to talking about cases in front of Rosie. It was just hard to keep anything from her – she was learning from the best.

„No, Rosie, that‘s enough cake for today,“ John laid a hand on his daughter‘s arm, already preparing for the objections that were sure to come.  
„But I made it! And Sherk already ate three!“  
„He is much taller than you, and he will stop now, too.“ John replied with a stern look into his flatmate‘s eyes.  
„He‘s gonna eat all the rest while I‘m asleep!“ Rosie accused Sherlock.  
„I won‘t,“ he promised with an amused glint in his eyes. „But I have to admit I could have a hard time staying away from the cake entirely. Nearly as much as you, I suppose. What do you suggest we do to make sure the cake survives until tomorrow?“  
John smiled as Rosie immediately came up with several ideas of cake-saving that she discussed with her rival in food. He was still amazed at times how well his daughter and Sherlock got along. When he had decided to move back into Baker Street with her, it surely hadn‘t been because he‘d considered the detective to be especially good with children. To be honest, he still avoided a closer look at why on earth he had made that decision – but it had turned out to be one of the best he had ever made.  
They were a weird little family for sure. But so what? They were happy, weren‘t they, and John was immensely proud of his brilliant little girl. And of Sherlock, too, who had managed to adjust his chaotic lifestyle to the needs of a small child and become an important and reliable person for her.  
Still, sometimes John couldn‘t help the feeling that all of this was somehow not real, was borrowed luck or a bubble waiting to burst. He avoided thinking of the future most of the time, but … one day Rosie would need her own room, and they would move out, away from the genius detective and the best landlady there could ever be. Or maybe Sherlock would just change his mind one day and want the flat for himself again, to clutter it with experiments and human body parts. After all, he wasn‘t obliged in any way to bring the sacrifices he did to make 221B a home for Rosie.  
John was pulled out of his pondering. The negotiations had come to a conclusion: The three of them would now leave the flat and the cake and spend the rest of the day in the park. When they got hungry, they‘d buy fish and chips and not go back to the flat until bedtime. Then they would confide the cake to Mrs Hudson, who by then should be back from visiting her sister. Of course she would get her fair share of it, too. Rosie deemed that a reasonable price for the safekeeping of the remaining cake, especially considering that she might have given the landlady some cake anyway. She just hesitated a moment at the thought that Mrs Hudson might not think it to be necessary to bring them biscuits in the future, knowing now that they were able to bake themselves, but she dismissed that idea as silly immediately for several reasons.  
So everything was settled, they could go out.

The afternoon turned out to be really great, Rosie showing her most amiable side playing in the park and then even coming home without more than a bit of pro forma arguing.  
In the evening however, she had some trouble calming down and finding sleep despite being solidly knackered. John read her two stories and sat by her bed for nearly half of an hour longer after that until she finally fell asleep (John almost beating her to it once or twice but then startling awake when she suddenly asked another question that definitely couldn‘t wait until tomorrow). When he came down into the living room, Sherlock was sitting in his chair, reading something or the other on what had been John‘s laptop until the latter had given up demanding it back from his flatmate years ago. The detective looked up as John settled beside him with a tired groan.  
„So you didn‘t fall asleep before Rosie, but it was a close call. Still, you didn‘t go to bed straight away, which means you want to talk about something. There is the subject of Rosie speaking about corpses in the nursery school and scaring one of her friends‘ mother, but while you clearly see a need to discuss that sometime soon, you don‘t feel like touching the matter this evening, otherwise you would have made tea before coming to me. And now your swallowing and the slight twitching of your hand at the mention of tea suggest that you do want something to drink, but not tea – beer. You rarely drink beer in my company, usually you save that for Gary, as for chatting with him you don‘t need as much of your brain functioning. So it‘s about something that falls more into the spectrum of topics you would usually talk about to him, but for some reason plan on discussing with me. Ah – music. You were surprised that I like something other than classical music. Well, me playing the violin proved to be less than sufficient as an antidote to the hideous earworms Rosie keeps bringing home, so we needed something stronger, catchier. Which brought David Bowie to my mind. I used to listen to his music a lot when I was a teenager, which Mycroft hated by the way, and I remember his songs playing in a loop in my mind for weeks. So they seemed the right tool to fix this problem. By the way, be assured that I payed close attention to the texts when I chose the songs to play for Rosie. That is everything that needs to be said on the matter, I think. Do you still need the beer?“  
John just looked at him a moment longer before he answered, one corner of his mouth turned slightly upward and his eyebrows raised. „Yeah, definitely. And now you and me are going to watch Bowie-videos on youtube together until the cows come home, any objections from your side will be considered invalid. Fancy a beer, too? Or - there is this cherry flavoured atrocity Molly dumped here recently, guess that‘s more your style.“  
„You really make it sound appealing“, Sherlock smirked, „Yes, please.“  
So this was one of the very rare occasions that Sherlock actually wanted to drink alcohol with him? John decided not to ponder on the possible reasons and went to fetch their drinks. When he returned, Sherlock was already connecting the speaker to the laptop again.  
John hadn‘t expected him to go along with his plan so smoothly, but why question his luck? Though the detective seemed a tiny bit too enthusiastic …  
„Sherlock? You remember the kid upstairs that just took me hours to get asleep, right?“  
„Don‘t be daft, John. Of course I didn‘t plan to turn the volume up all the way. But you can‘t expect me to settle for the horrible built-in speakers. You know Bowie does always have an actual bass player in the band, don‘t you? It would be a pity if all their hard work had been for nothing.“  
„Yeah, right“, John replied mildly, scratching his neck, „now, where do we start? With the old stuff? I‘ve always liked „Five Years“, for example.“

It was nice sitting on the couch together, listening to song after song. John felt himself relax as he gazed idly at the screen, sipped his beer, and let his mind wander. Although he had never been a die-hard fan, he found he had come to know and like a lot of Bowie‘s songs over the years. Listening to them now brought back a lot of memories. Quite a few linked to his big sister who had introduced him to the music in the first place. Others to … other people.  
„Blue Jean“ started to play, and suddenly he saw himself as a teenager at a house party of someone‘s cousin or something. It didn‘t really matter whose party it had been, what mattered was only one person there. Lars. John had never found out who Lars actually was, hadn‘t even dared to ask around for him, after. All he knew was that the boy had been from Sweden, and only in Britain for a week or so. They hadn‘t talked much. But this stranger had understood something about him, had unlocked something in him that John hadn‘t even fully realised was there. And had tried hard to push aside ever since.  
He sighed. And froze immediately. His head spun around on impulse to look at Sherlock. Shit. Of course the bastard had been staring at him the whole time, probably deducing every last detail about his flatmate snogging a bloke for the first time.

John jumped up and took a few steps backwards, away from Sherlock, nearly stumbling over his empty bottle. He stood and clenched and unclenched his fists a few times and tried to concentrate on his breathing, all the while staring at a point several feet above Sherlock‘s head. It seemed this was one of the moments the years of therapy came in handy. And he still had some way to go.  
„John“, came a slightly tentative voice from the couch, „I am fully aware that you are ‚not gay‘, as I heard you so eloquently put it about a dozen times. Let me assure you that straight men making an exception for David Bowie has been such a frequent occurrence over the last decades that it has become a bit of a cliché. So don‘t fret. He certainly is a very attractive man.“  
Now John stared right into his face again. He couldn‘t believe it. Sherlock, the great Sherlock Holmes, was wrong. A relieved and somewhat incredulous smile started to spread over his face, but then he saw that the detective had realised his mistake.  
„I am wrong, aren‘t I? I am wrong“, Sherlock stammered, „How can I be wrong? What is … Ah, the alcohol! I must be drunk!“ With that, he took his glass and swiftly drained the remainder of the pink liquid, then busied himself with scrolling through the list of songs youtube suggested they listen to next.

John blinked. What was wrong with Sherlock? He might be a bit of a lightweight, but still he couldn‘t be more than a bit tipsy from what little he had drunk. And why didn‘t he immediately try to find out where he had been wrong and … Wait. Had he just described David Bowie as attractive? Wasn‘t Sherlock a complete stranger to the whole concept? Or could he be attracted to someone, after all?  
John sat down on the couch again and cleared his throat. „Do you find David Bowie attractive?“ he asked, aiming for casually and missing by miles.  
„I told you exactly that, less than three minutes ago, John, do keep up.“  
So Sherlock could … there was a possibility… did that mean … John‘s brain refused to build complete sentences. He felt lost in a flood of feelings he had been blocking out for years. Suddenly there was this tiny spark of hope that called them all back. And of course they had become stronger while he wasn‘t looking – the attraction he had felt from the first moment on was now complemented by the deep affection for his friend that had grown over the years.  
But it was a false hope, he realised when he remembered why he had tried to obliterate every shred of desire he had felt towards Sherlock in the first place. „Married to my work“ - the words of rejection rang in his ears as if he had heard them just a moment ago. No, Sherlock would never return his affection. And now he knew he could take it personally.  
He buried his face in his hands and tried to shut it all out. All of a sudden the music was too loud, he felt too hot, everything was just too much.

„Don‘t worry“, Sherlock snarled, „You‘re safe. I am fully capable of keeping my hand‘s off Britain‘s straightest flatmate. You are not irresistible to everybody.“  
What? John‘s head shot up so fast he got a little dizzy. Or maybe it was due to the implications of what Sherlock had just said.  
„Ahhh, I got it wrong again!“ the detective groaned and got up to pace around the room. „Stupid sentiment, stupid, stupid! John, I don‘t … I can‘t think when you are like that!“  
„Like what?“ John asked slowly, not yet daring to trust the hope that stirred inside him again – and yet completely failing to hold it down. „Like ...“ Sherlock stood and waved his arm around in a gesture that seemed to vaguely point at his friend as a whole, then he resumed his agitated pacing.  
„Sherlock?“ John asked softly, his heart pounding like mad, „Do you have difficulties reading me because you … like me?“ (God, please, don‘t let me be wrong!)  
Sherlock stopped his pacing and stood still, his back towards John. After a few agonising seconds he gave a little nod, then froze again.

John stood up and took a step towards his friend, then he whispered: „You know, Sherlock, I like you, too. Very much.“ He swallowed hard and opened and closed his fist unconsciously, forcing himself to wait.  
Finally, Sherlock turned around. Never had he looked more beautiful than this, his face soft and open, his cheeks reddened and his eyes glistening. John recognised the mix of hope and anxiety in them as they roamed his face, and he tried to pour all his affection in his responding gaze.  
And then a blissful smile lit up Sherlock‘s whole face and John couldn‘t hold off any longer. He stepped forward and immediately found himself pressed against his friend‘s chest. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock‘s back, and they stood there like this for a long while, content to stroke each other‘s back and breathe in each other‘s scent. At some point John pulled back gently, just far enough so that he could look Sherlock in the eyes again. He noticed the exact moment his favourite genius wisely decided not to comment on dilated pupils and smirked a little as he reached up to cup his face. But he went serious again immediately, revelling in the weight of the moment as their faces drifted towards one another inevitably.  
And then, finally, their lips met, softly, cautiously at first, but soon they both threw themselves into the kiss with all they had. They were breathless and lightheaded when they finally took a break to look into each other‘s eyes again, stunned by what had just happened.

That was the moment Rosie picked to call for her daddy with an urgent sounding wail. Probably one of her cuddly toys had fallen out of the bed again. Sighing, John detached himself from Sherlock after one last peck on the lips. „I‘ll be right back, love“, he promised, then made for the stairs. „Coming, Rosie!“ he called in a low voice, but looked over his shoulder again. Sherlock stared at him wide-eyed. „Love?“ he mouthed. John turned around on the threshold and nodded, smiling softly. „Love.“

**Author's Note:**

> As always, kudos / comments (also corrections) would be much appreciated.  
> And in case you wondered: Indeed one of Rosie's cuddly toys had gone AWOL. A squirrel named crunchy-munchy. She fell asleep again quickly after her dad picked it up. You're welcome.


End file.
